The Sanskrit Epics

by Delphi Classics

  51. Not even a man who has seen the truth would understand the Buddha, the Charioteer Whose steeds are men, in the same way as the saintly Arhat does whose mind is tranquillised; how much less then will a man outside the pale of the Law do so, intelligent though he be?

  52. And this gratitude is fitting in you, whose mind is freed from passion and ignorance; for, O grateful one, gratitude is hard to find in this world conditioned by excess of passion.

  53. You possess the Law and since in accordance with the Law you have obtained faith in Me and skill in attainment, I have more to say to you; for, being humble and devoted, you are worthy of receiving a command.

  54. By following the highest Path you have reached the goal and there is not the slightest thing further for you to do; henceforward, my, friend, practise compassion, bringing liberation to those in difficulties even when they are your enemies.

  55. The lowest class of man undertakes action for this world only, the next class both for this world and the world above, the middle man for results in the hereafter only, and the man of superior character for freedom from rebirth.

  56. But he is deemed best among the best in this world who, after obtaining the supreme ultimate Element, desires, careless of the trouble it involves for him, to teach this tranquillity to others also.

  57. Therefore abandoning all concern with your own affairs in this world, work with steadfast soul for others and hold up this torch of revelation for the beings who with souls clouded with mental darkness are wandering in the night.

  58. Just let the inhabitants of the town be astonished’ while you preach the Law and let them say, Look, this is a miracle that he who was addicted to passion now tells the tale of final emancipation!”

  59. For certainly when your wife hears that your mind has become steadfast with its desires turned away from the various objects of the senses, she too will imitate you in the palace and will preach among the women of freedom from passion.

  60. For certainly since you are filled with supreme steadfastness and have entered into reality, she will find no pleasure in the palace, just as the intelligence of the enlightened man, whose mind is discriminating and characterised by tranquillity and self-restraint, finds none in the pleasures of love.’

  61. Then Nanda grasped with his head the words and the feet simultaneously of the worshipful, supremely compassionate Master, and cheerful with heart at rest and his aims accomplished, he left the Sage, being freed from conceit like an elephant from must.

  62. Indifferent to gain or loss, to pleasure or suffering etc., free from yearnings and with senses stilled, he entered the city to ask for alms at the due time and attracted the gaze of the folk; and there in due course he told the tale of Salvation to the folk who had need of it, neither contemning others still wandering far from the true Path nor exalting himself.

  63. This poem, dealing thus with the subject of Salvation, has been written in the Kâvya style, not to give pleasure, but to further the attainment of tranquillity and with the intention of capturing hearers devoted to other things. For, that I have handled other subjects in it besides Salvation is in accordance with the laws of Kâvya poetry to make it palatable, as sweet is put into a bitter medicine to make it drinkable.

  64. Since I saw mankind mainly given over to the pleasures of the objects of the senses and averse from Salvation, I have here told of the final truth under the guise of a Kâvya, considering Salvation to be supreme. Let the reader understand this and study attentively in it that which leads to tranquillity and not that which is merely pleasurable, as only the residue of gold is taken after it has been separated from the metal dust.

  This poem was written by the great eloquent poet, the mendicant and teacher, his reverence Asvaghosa, the noble son of Suvarnâksï of Sâketa.

  Selections from ‘Raghuvamsha’ by Kalidasa

  OR, THE DYNASTY OF RAGHU

  Translated by Arthur W. Ryder

  Widely regarded as the greatest poet and dramatist of Sanskrit literature, Kalidasa produced plays and poetry primarily based on the Vedas, the Mahabharata and the Puranas. Much about Kalidasa’s life is unknown, sourced only from what can be inferred from his works. Kalidasa wrote two epic poems, which cannot be dated with precision, though they were most likely authored within the fourth to fifth century AD.

  The Raghuvamsha narrates, in 19 sargas (cantos), relating to the Raghu dynasty, namely the family of Dilipa and his descendants up to Agnivarna, including Raghu, Dasharatha and Rama. The earliest surviving commentary written on the work is that of the tenth-century Kashmiri scholar Vallabhadeva. The most popular and widely available commentary, however, is the Sanjivani, written by Mallinatha (c. 1350-1450).

  The plot involves the warrior Raghu, the ruler of the Ikshvaku dynasty, who leads a military expedition to Transoxiana. He defeats and subjugates local people along the way (presumably on his march through Central Asia) until he reaches the Vakshu, as the ancient Indians called the Oxus River. There, Raghu’s army battles the Hepthalites, or White Huns, whom the Indians called Hunas and Mlecchas (barbarians). The Hepthalites are defeated, and the Raghuvamsha boasts of “The exploits of Raghu, whose valor expressed itself amongst the husbands of the Huna women, became manifest in the scarlet colour of their cheeks.”

  DYNASTY OF RAGHU

  The Dynasty of Raghu is an epic poem in nineteen cantos. It consists of 1564 stanzas, or something over six thousand lines of verse. The subject is that great line of kings who traced their origin to the sun, the famous “solar line” of Indian story. The bright particular star of the solar line is Rama, the knight without fear and without reproach, the Indian ideal of a gentleman. His story had been told long before Kalidasa’s time in the Ramayana, an epic which does not need to shun comparison with the foremost epic poems of Europe. In The Dynasty of Raghu, too, Rama is the central figure; yet in Kalidasa’s poem there is much detail concerning other princes of the line. The poem thus naturally falls into three great parts: first, the four immediate ancestors of Rama (cantos 1-9); second, Rama (cantos 10-15); third, certain descendants of Rama (cantos 16-19). A somewhat detailed account of the matter of the poem may well precede criticism and comment.

  First canto. The journey to the hermitage. — The poem begins with the customary brief prayer for Shiva’s favour:

  God Shiva and his mountain bride,

  Like word and meaning unified,

  The world’s great parents, I beseech

  To join fit meaning to my speech.

  Then follow nine stanzas in which Kalidasa speaks more directly of himself than elsewhere in his works:

  How great is Raghu’s solar line!

  How feebly small are powers of mine!

  As if upon the ocean’s swell

  I launched a puny cockle-shell.

  The fool who seeks a poet’s fame

  Must look for ridicule and blame,

  Like tiptoe dwarf who fain would try

  To pluck the fruit for giants high.

  Yet I may enter through the door

  That mightier poets pierced of yore;

  A thread may pierce a jewel, but

  Must follow where the diamond cut.

  Of kings who lived as saints from birth,

  Who ruled to ocean-shore on earth,

  Who toiled until success was given,

  Whose chariots stormed the gates of heaven,

  Whose pious offerings were blest,

  Who gave his wish to every guest,

  Whose punishments were as the crimes,

  Who woke to guard the world betimes,

  Who sought, that they might lavish, pelf,

  Whose measured speech was truth itself,

  Who fought victorious wars for fame,

  Who loved in wives the mother’s name,

  Who studied all good arts as boys,

  Who loved, in manhood, manhood’s joys,

  Whose age was free from worldly care,

  Who breathed their lives away in prayer,

/>   Of these I sing, of Raghu’s line,

  Though weak mine art, and wisdom mine.

  Forgive these idle stammerings

  And think: For virtue’s sake he sings.

  The good who hear me will be glad

  To pluck the good from out the bad;

  When ore is proved by fire, the loss

  Is not of purest gold, but dross.

  After the briefest glance at the origin of the solar line, the poet tells of Rama’s great-great-grandfather, King Dilipa. The detailed description of Dilipa’s virtues has interest as showing Kalidasa’s ideal of an aristocrat; a brief sample must suffice here:

  He practised virtue, though in health;

  Won riches, with no greed for wealth;

  Guarded his life, though not from fear;

  Prized joys of earth, but not too dear.

  His virtuous foes he could esteem

  Like bitter drugs that healing seem;

  The friends who sinned he could forsake

  Like fingers bitten by a snake.

  Yet King Dilipa has one deep-seated grief: he has no son. He therefore journeys with his queen to the hermitage of the sage Vasishtha, in order to learn what they must do to propitiate an offended fate. Their chariot rolls over country roads past fragrant lotus-ponds and screaming peacocks and trustful deer, under archways formed without supporting pillars by the cranes, through villages where they receive the blessings of the people. At sunset they reach the peaceful forest hermitage, and are welcomed by the sage. In response to Vasishtha’s benevolent inquiries, the king declares that all goes well in the kingdom, and yet:

  Until from this dear wife there springs

  A son as great as former kings,

  The seven islands of the earth

  And all their gems, are nothing worth.

  The final debt, most holy one,

  Which still I owe to life — a son —

  Galls me as galls the cutting chain

  An elephant housed in dirt and pain.

  Vasishtha tells the king that on a former occasion he had offended the divine cow Fragrant, and had been cursed by the cow to lack children until he had propitiated her own offspring. While the sage is speaking, Fragrant’s daughter approaches, and is entrusted to the care of the king and queen.

  Second canto. The holy cow’s gift. — During twenty-one days the king accompanies the cow during her wanderings in the forest, and each night the queen welcomes their return to the hermitage. On the twenty-second day the cow is attacked by a lion, and when the king hastens to draw an arrow, his arm is magically numbed, so that he stands helpless. To increase his horror, the lion speaks with a human voice, saying that he is a servant of the god Shiva, set on guard there and eating as his appointed food any animals that may appear. Dilipa perceives that a struggle with earthly weapons is useless, and begs the lion to accept his own body as the price of the cow’s release. The lion tries sophistry, using the old, hollow arguments:

  Great beauty and fresh youth are yours; on earth

  As sole, unrivalled emperor you rule;

  Should you redeem a thing of little worth

  At such a price, you would appear a fool.

  If pity moves you, think that one mere cow

  Would be the gainer, should you choose to die;

  Live rather for the world! Remember how

  The father-king can bid all dangers fly.

  And if the fiery sage’s wrath, aglow

  At loss of one sole cow, should make you shudder,

  Appease his anger; for you can bestow

  Cows by the million, each with pot-like udder.

  Save life and youth; for to the dead are given

  No long, unbroken years of joyous mirth;

  But riches and imperial power are heaven —

  The gods have nothing that you lack on earth.

  The lion spoke and ceased; but echo rolled

  Forth from the caves wherein the sound was pent,

  As if the hills applauded manifold,

  Repeating once again the argument.

  Dilipa has no trouble in piercing this sophistical argument, and again offers his own life, begging the lion to spare the body of his fame rather than the body of his flesh. The lion consents, but when the king resolutely presents himself to be eaten, the illusion vanishes, and the holy cow grants the king his desire. The king returns to his capital with the queen, who shortly becomes pregnant.

  Third canto. Raghu’s consecration. — The queen gives birth to a glorious boy, whom the joyful father names Raghu. There follows a description of the happy family, of which a few stanzas are given here:

  The king drank pleasure from him late and soon

  With eyes that stared like windless lotus-flowers;

  Unselfish joy expanded all his powers

  As swells the sea responsive to the moon.

  The rooted love that filled each parent’s soul

  For the other, deep as bird’s love for the mate,

  Was now divided with the boy; and straight

  The remaining half proved greater than the whole.

  He learned the reverence that befits a boy;

  Following the nurse’s words, began to talk;

  And clinging to her finger, learned to walk:

  These childish lessons stretched his father’s joy,

  Who clasped the baby to his breast, and thrilled

  To feel the nectar-touch upon his skin,

  Half closed his eyes, the father’s bliss to win

  Which, more for long delay, his being filled.

  The baby hair must needs be clipped; yet he

  Retained two dangling locks, his cheeks to fret;

  And down the river of the alphabet

  He swam, with other boys, to learning’s sea.

  Religion’s rites, and what good learning suits

  A prince, he had from teachers old and wise;

  Not theirs the pain of barren enterprise,

  For effort spent on good material, fruits.

  This happy childhood is followed by a youth equally happy. Raghu is married and made crown prince. He is entrusted with the care of the horse of sacrifice, 1 and when Indra, king of the gods, steals the horse, Raghu fights him. He cannot overcome the king of heaven, yet he acquits himself so creditably that he wins Indra’s friendship. In consequence of this proof of his manhood, the empire is bestowed upon Raghu by his father, who retires with his queen to the forest, to spend his last days and prepare for death.

  Fourth canto. Raghu conquers the world. — The canto opens with several stanzas descriptive of the glory of youthful King Raghu.

  He manifested royal worth

  By even justice toward the earth,

  Beloved as is the southern breeze,

  Too cool to burn, too warm to freeze.

  The people loved his father, yet

  For greater virtues could forget;

  The beauty of the blossoms fair

  Is lost when mango-fruits are there.

  But the vassal kings are restless

  For when they knew the king was gone

  And power was wielded by his son,

  The wrath of subject kings awoke,

  Which had been damped in sullen smoke.

  Raghu therefore determines to make a warlike progress through all India. He marches eastward with his army from his capital Ayodhya (the name is preserved in the modern Oudh) to the Bay of Bengal, then south along the eastern shore of India to Cape Comorin, then north along the western shore until he comes to the region drained by the Indus, finally east through the tremendous Himalaya range into Assam, and thence home. The various nations whom he encounters, Hindus, Persians, Greeks, and White Huns, all submit either with or without fighting. On his safe return, Raghu offers a great sacrifice and gives away all his wealth. 2

  Fifth canto. Aja goes wooing. — While King Raghu is penniless, a young sage comes to him, desiring a huge sum of money to give to the teacher with whom he has just finished
his education. The king, unwilling that any suppliant should go away unsatisfied, prepares to assail the god of wealth in his Himalayan stronghold, and the god, rather than risk the combat, sends a rain of gold into the king’s treasury. This gold King Raghu bestows upon the sage, who gratefully uses his spiritual power to cause a son to be born to his benefactor. In course of time, the son is born and the name Aja is given to him. We are here introduced to Prince Aja, who is a kind of secondary hero in the poem, inferior only to his mighty grandson, Rama. To Aja are devoted the remainder of this fifth canto and the following three cantos; and these Aja-cantos are among the loveliest in the epic. When the prince has grown into young manhood, he journeys to a neighbouring court to participate in the marriage reception of Princess Indumati. 3 One evening he camps by a river, from which a wild elephant issues and attacks his party. When wounded by Aja, the elephant strangely changes his form, becoming a demigod, gives the prince a magic weapon, and departs to heaven. Aja proceeds ceeds without further adventure to the country and the palace of Princess Indumati, where he is made welcome and luxuriously lodged for the night. In the morning, he is awakened by the song of the court poets outside his chamber. He rises and betakes himself to the hall where the suitors are gathering.

  Sixth canto. The princess chooses. — The princely suitors assemble in the hall; then, to the sound of music, the princess enters in a litter, robed as a bride, and creates a profound sensation.

  For when they saw God’s masterpiece, the maid

  Who smote their eyes to other objects blind,

  Their glances, wishes, hearts, in homage paid,

  Flew forth to her; mere flesh remained behind.

  The princes could not but betray their yearning

  By sending messengers, their love to bring,

  In many a quick, involuntary turning,

  As flowering twigs of trees announce the spring.

  Then a maid-servant conducts the princess from one suitor to another, and explains the claim which each has upon her affection. First is presented the King of Magadha, recommended in four stanzas, one of which runs:

  Though other kings by thousands numbered be,